


goddamn, the pirate's life for me

by riften



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 17:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3945436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riften/pseuds/riften
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She doesn’t understand why he only stays at her left."</p><p>Killian's behaviour changes as things get more serious between him and Emma, and his trademark hook becomes a source of discomfort in their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	goddamn, the pirate's life for me

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote half this fic towards the end of s3, and finished it off after s4, so I hope it isn't awfully out of character.

She doesn’t understand why he only stays at her left.

It isn’t obvious until she notices the way his step falters as they leave the sheriff’s station together, lingering in the doorway for just a moment, letting himself fall a couple paces behind, before jogging to catch her up on her other side.

It’s the way he brushes his fingers against her left sleeve, a silent announcement that he’s there. And how naturally she reacts – how she finds herself turning her head to correct the direction of speech.

“Oh – there you are,” she breaks off softly, surprise lingering for a second. He shoots her a gentle smile, and the feeling dissipates. She continues telling him about David’s new baby-Neal anecdote (which she knows is probably a little lost on him, but despite everything she really misses living with her parents and baby brother, and updating Killian on the events of her family reassures her that she’s still part of it, even if she’s not there to witness it).

Back at home (in this new apartment which is barely furnished and with so few cardboard boxes that it really hits her how few possessions either of them actually have and wow, how new this whole thing is, of, like, being expected to call such a place ‘home’), she busies herself in the kitchen with wrangling two clean mugs, and finds him in the living area, sat on the side of the couch closest to her.

“That your new spot, huh?” she asks, balancing his mug on the armrest before coming round to sit on his other side.

He looks up in surprise, straightening his posture to inspect the tea. “Cheers, love,” he says. Then processing her question, frowns. “I don’t know. Perhaps? Do people normally have spots?”

She shrugs, shifting on the new cushions for a comfortable position to rest her tea on her knee. Again, she can’t help but notice that he’s pressed himself to the edge of the cushion, leaving her with all the rest of the couch, but no choice but to be at his _right._ “Possessive people, maybe?” she says, dipping her head to take a sip.

He smiles at her with an amused twitch. His hand passes over to her other knee, resting his fingertips there like a crown.  (And she smiles too, because it’s times like this that she’s happy to be in the tranquillity of _their_ apartment.)

He removes his hand, and reaches back to grab the mug handle. He takes a swig, and she jumps a little when he tears his lips away, cursing in pain.

She thinks he must have scalded himself until he moans, “What _is_ this thing?”

“It’s called chamomile,” she offers. “D’you not like it?”

“It tastes like... soil... or hay.”

She’s glad to admit she can’t relate to that. Bumping his shoulder, she teases, “It’s good for you. Mary Margaret calls it _chloroform_ tea, ‘cos, you know... knocks you out like rum, but without the drawbacks in the morning.”

He lifts a comical eyebrow at her, then glances sceptically into the murky, steaming depths.

He lets out a laugh, and but when she reaches for his free hand – his hook – he wrenches his arm away violently.

Both of them still, shocked. The laughter dies on his lips, and her throat feels suddenly very dry in the heaviness of the moment. “Killian?” she offers weakly.

He looks a little shocked himself, ( _at_ himself, she thinks, with that same look on his face as when he grabbed that thief on their first date). He barely meets her eye to murmur, “Goodnight, Emma.” And she senses a great reluctance in the kiss he brushes on the corner of her mouth, before he gets up and heads down the hallway to their room.

*

Maybe the chamomile does work wonders, she thinks, entering the bedroom after finishing her tea (and clearing up in the kitchen a little longer than necessary because honestly she’s just mulling over _what the hell just happened_ and absentmindedly ended up washing the same lot of dishes twice) because he’s fast asleep on far side of the bed ( _left_ side, may she add) with half his clothes still on like he was hit over the head mid-strip.

She pauses in the doorway, unsure how to approach. She’s too tired, she decides, to get him out of the rest of his clothes. But she goes over to his side anyway to loosen his belt (and in the most un-sexual way you can loosen your boyfriend’s belt) to make him a little more comfortable.

She catches a glimpse of metal on the floor under the bed, and reaches down to pick up his hook. He must have missed the bedside table when he took it off. She puts it gently down on the nightstand, wondering if he’d be more comfortable with the brace off as well.

She reaches down to touch his arm, but resolutely stops herself, unsettled.

She obviously made him uncomfortable tonight, and this would only make it worse.

A bit shaken, Emma goes around to the other side of the bed and slips under the covers. It’s not cold, but she’s worried he might be, so she gets out again and finds another blanket, throwing it over his sleeping form.

And then, a little more reassured, she falls asleep.

*

After that, she’s more aware of his actions around her. When they eat breakfast together, he is much more relaxed and joking and she’s glad for it. But when they leave the apartment she realises he’s doing that _left_ thing again, and it itches at her a bit.

Out of curiosity, when they cross the road, she gets ahead of him a little and positions herself walking along the kerb, leaving her left side flush against the parked cars.

She feels him falter behind her when he catches up, like he’s not sure what to do.

She glances behind her, and feels a little cruel. So she extends her hand out to him, and he links their arms.

(She thinks about their first date. The trade with Gold to get his hand back. The rose instead of the steel.)

She doesn’t want to ask. It feels awful to ask, and she hates it when people pester her too. But she whispers, “Killian, are you feeling okay? You seem a bit off today.” She watches his face for a reaction.

But he just smiles and whispers back, “I’m fine, Emma.” He puts a kiss on the tip of her nose, and it’s so tender and fond that for a moment she doubts anything could ever be wrong.

*

“Everything is wrong.”

David sits at her desk, fists clenched and jaw tight. He’s staring at her monitor.

Emma sets her coffee down next to him. “What d’you mean?”

She’s not a fussy sort of person. But she does like her own space. And this extends to being able to sit at your own desk when arriving at work.

“David?” she urges. “What’s wrong?”

He looks up at her, as if seeing her for the first time. “Oh,” he says. “Hi, Emma.” He gets up, reluctantly. “Sorry. My computer wasn’t working. I just had to check something.”

“No problem.” She sidles in past him, and into her chair. Taking a sip of her coffee, she glances at the screen. The browser is open on a news article headed: COASTAL MAINE FACES LARGEST STORM IN DECADES.

Almost choking on her coffee, she splutters, “ _'Storm’?_ David, what the hell!”

He waves his hands frantically. “Oh - no! No, it’s not what you think!” Much to Emma’s fury, he begins to laugh. “Seriously, Emma, you shouldn’t worry. Check the date.”

She scrolls up. He’s right, she shouldn’t worry. It’s dated almost thirty years ago.

“Why the hell d’you have to scare me like that?” she whines.

“Sorry. My computer wasn’t working.”

“I didn’t even realise there were reports that old online.”

“No. They’re all archived. From some old newspaper.”

“Huh.” She looks at the date once more. It was her birthday. “Hold on. Wasn’t this...”

“When Storybrooke was created? Yeah.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“I’ve been reading up,” he explained. “About the effect Storybrooke had on this world, when your mother and I first arrived here. It was her idea, actually. She wanted to know how so much magic could go unnoticed in a world _without_ magic.” He nods to the computer. “Apparently, this was the form it took.”

Emma skims the article noncommittally before closing the tab. “That’s pretty cool. But I don’t get it, why did you say everything was wrong? When I came in?”

“I don’t know, Emma, but I don’t like the idea that Storybrooke draws so much attention to itself. We’ve had people come here before, trying to figure out our secrets. I just don’t get how such an extraordinary event -- the strongest storm in _decades --_  could go unnoticed.”

“Maybe it can’t. But we sorted it out last time. We’ll find a way.”

David smiled faintly. “You sound just like your mother.”

Emma laughed, not sure how much she liked that news. “I forgot to ask. How is she, by the way?”

“Mary Margaret? She’s doing fine. I’ll get her to text you the new photos of Neal. She picked up this pirate hat, like a little baby-sized one. It’s hilarious. You should show Killian.” He laughs, shaking his head at the memory.

Emma laughs too, logging onto her e-mail. “I’m sure Killian will be _very_ pleased.”

“And how is he?” David asks.

“Fine.” She stops typing. “Actually, I don’t know. He’s been acting weird lately.”

(She doesn’t know why she’s telling David this. They don’t usually talk about this. Relationship stuff.)

He frowns. “Weird? In what way?”

“Like, angsty. More than usual. Should I be worried that he’s under a curse again?” She tries to make it a joke, to lighten the mood.

David shrugs. “He’s probably bored. What does he even do? Does he work?”

Emma considers this. “He hasn’t really got a job. I don’t know how transferrable skills _are_ from three lifetimes of piracy. But he does work. He helps at the docks a little, I just don’t think fishing’s really his thing.”

“If _only_ there was a vacancy for plundering,” David cries in mock exasperation, banging a fist against his thigh.

Emma laughs. “Yeah.”

(She decides not to mention the left hand thing.)

*

She leaves the station earlier than usual. She doesn’t take the car, but walks to the docks to find him. Luckily, he’s there, on board one of the smaller yachts.

She creeps on board while he’s distracted by some rigging. It feels pretty illegal, trespassing on someone else’s boat. She hopes Killian got permission beforehand; otherwise she might have to arrest him.

When she’s almost a couple of steps behind him, she shouts, “Ahoy matey!”

Startled, he swings around, hook drawn.

“Emma? What’re you---“ He drops his hand, but before he can finish she strides up to him and pulls him into a kiss.

It works the shock out of his bones. When they pull apart, he grins. “Hello.”

“Hi.” She feels like a goddamn teenager. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“You did.”

“Good. Now, are you finished here?”

“Here? I guess.”

“Then let’s go home.”

He nods, brushing a kiss against her bottom lip. “As you wish.”

*

They skip to the good bit. (It’s a privilege of having your own apartment without your parents or son barging in, God bless them.)

Any reluctance she should hold from last night, that should make her wary or inhibited, she transforms it into passion. (He’s all over and she’s all over him.)

Beneath her, his chest rises and falls rapidly, pupils dilate, his head pushes back into the pillows with his lips partially open. She grabs his hand and kisses each knuckle, agonisingly slowly. Then she turns over his palm and kisses him there, too. She kisses her way up to his wrist, and then laces her fingers with him.

He’s acting as if he’s about to come undone, like his heart is about to burst out his chest.

(She knows it’s as good a time as ever.)

Dropping his arm, she picks up his _left._ He doesn’t pull away this time, which is good news. She does the same thing. Kisses his stump, instead of his fingers.

She watches his reaction. He locks eyes with her, and she kisses it again. And again. She kisses him until he unravels beneath her.

(She needs him to know.)

*

The buzzing of her phone wakes her up.

“Hello?” she groans.

“Mom? It’s Henry. I’m locked outside.”

She sits up. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry kid. I took a nap.”

She glances over at Killian’s sleeping form. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

She stands up, and runs to the closet to pull out some pyjamas. At least commit to the story, she reckons.

Shutting the bedroom door behind her, she jogs to the front and opens it up.

Henry’s standing there with Regina.

“Hey, Mom,” he says, giving a quick hug and sliding past her. “Sorry to wake you up.”

She looks over at him, “No, I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Just taking a nap,” she repeats. She looks back at Regina. “Thanks so much for dropping him off. D’you wanna come in? Can I get you anything?”

Regina has a wicked smile on her face. “No, thank you, Emma.” Her eyes flicker over Emma’s shoulder. “I’d best be off, Henry. Make sure you don’t keep your mom up any longer.”

Emma’s already blushing now. “No, don’t worry... just a nap...”

Regina laughs, slow and piercing. “Goodnight, both of you.”

*

Henry’s getting into bed when she hears movement from the other room. She says goodnight once more, then goes out to find Killian in the kitchen.

“You shouldn’t drink when Henry’s around,” she scolds, watching him pour out some rum.

“There’re a lot of things I shouldn’t do when Henry’s around,” he replies gruffly.

She laughs. He turns around to face her, leaning back on the counter.

She can’t help but look him up and down. He’s put back on his hook.

“What are you thinking about, Swan?” he asks, taking a swig.

“You.”

He raises his eyebrows, and she steps in closer. “How handsome you are.”

“Tell me something new.”

She laughs again. Then a thought strikes her. “Actually, David did show me this article from when Storybrooke first was created. The magic looked to everyone else like a massive storm. Isn’t that a cool idea? As if the town was washed up onshore.”

He nods, thoughtfully. “So were people harmed? From this world?”

“No - no casualties. The so-called storm only hit the area where the town is now. Just everyone else saw it and said it looked pretty strong.”

“I guess that’s alright, then.” His voice is thick.

She reaches for his hook, humming in agreement. (He stills at her touch, and it makes her want to cry.)

She steps back, tugging him along with her. “All those people,” she murmurs. “Thinking that the storm was destructive, that it was a disaster. They were wrong. But we know, we know that there was really goodness inside. That’s the most important thing. And nobody got hurt.”

He’s stumbling to close the gap now, pushing her towards the bedroom.

She brings up his hook and leans her cheek against it, stopping them in the doorway. “Killian, I...” She swallows, trying to get the shakiness out of her voice. “I need you to stop acting as if you’re gonna hurt me.”

He watches her, eyes dark and breathing deeply. “What do you expect? You’re sleeping with a villain.”

“I’m sleeping with a guy who put his life on the line, who travelled to different realms, who traded his _ship_ , to win my heart.”

“Aye. It was worth it.”

*

(He’s right. There are a lot of things they shouldn’t do when Henry’s around. But if they do it quietly, she reckons it doesn’t count.)

This time she doesn’t let him take of his hook, and he doesn’t seem to care anymore.

*

“I think Regina knew, when she came to drop Henry off.”

He takes a few seconds to fill in the context, then the thought makes him chuckle. “Well, it is your apartment, after all. You should do as you wish in it.”

“ _Our_ apartment.”

He draws back, looking surprised. “Really?”

She shrugs. “If you want it to be.”

“But I don’t have any money. Not from this world.”

“We’ll find a way.”

(She says it again without realising. Maybe she really is turning into her mother.)

He nods. “Alright.”


End file.
